30
A year ago, I turned 29.
Much of what I thought about that birthday was the ever increasing imminence of this one. Numbers are just numbers, etc., etc., but still. 30 seems kind of monumental. I've been mentally preparing myself for a few years now.
Last year I felt far from 30. I have to laugh, because I remember that for years and years, I felt older than the calendar said I was. At some point, I realized that the reverse was true, but I really have no idea when some point was. This confuses me, and I find myself wondering if identifying 'some point' would be somehow informative to me. Alas. For now some point rests somewhere in between my 25th and 30th birthdays.
Today, however, I feel like I'm catching up with myself.
Shortly after I moved back from France in the summer of 2013, I crossed paths with a guy I went to grade school with. We sat outside talking all night, had coffee when the sun came up, and didn't spend more than 48 hours apart for the next ten months. I had the strange feeling that I had always known him, and I started feeling older. Not in a bad way. But decidedly older. Or maybe I just confuse contentedness with oldness.
We rented a little house out in the country, and I felt pretty happy there. My desire to do things like run ultra-marathons and travel the world waned. I was, and am, glad to have had these experiences. But they're not always tugging at me the way they used to. Last summer, I went to a meditation retreat, and left early. I sat silently for about two days, and know I could have stayed for the eight more that were planned. Instead I had this kind of sublime realization. What was I looking for? Metta, compassion, joy, equanimity? I had everything I needed: the only thing missing was me, and for some reason, I was in the woods in the middle of Wisconsin. I laughed and cried, thanked everyone, packed my things and got back in my car. It took all night to drive home, and as I pulled onto our gravel road just as the sun came up, I took a moment to give thanks before going inside.
Later that summer, I applied to medical school. Meanwhile, I got a great new job, and gave thanks for health insurance. Matt and I started talking more about future plans and trying to buy a place of our own. In January, my beloved grandfather began hospice care. In February, I bought the first car I've ever had that wasn't a family hand-me-down. I told the salesman, who kept trying to talk to me about cuteness, that I really wanted a dependable car that got great gas mileage. Driving away from the dealership in my Honda hybrid, I felt older. A week later, we got a call from my grandfather's caregivers. We gathered to hold his hands while his priest came and delivered last rites, and that afternoon, he took his final breaths. I spoke at his memorial service about the one time I ever remember him losing his temper with me, when I'd asked him if he thought it was really important to have children. The day we buried him, I found out I was pregnant. I waited to tell Matt until the next week, after the opening of his first solo art show. The same week, I was invited to interview at the medical school I'd told Matt a year ago I most readily saw myself at. At the time, I was so overwhelmed I considered not going.
In the end, I decided I had nothing to lose. Two weeks later, I drove to Des Moines, and fell in love with DMU. I asked my student tour guide if any of his classmates had families, and he smiled and told me about his wife and 6-month old daughter. Everything about it felt good. On the way home, I threw up in a cup in the car while driving down the interstate- morning sickness, which is not remotely relegated to the morning. I was thankful I hadn't thrown up during the interview. A week later, I was accepted. Of course, that meant I was right on track to take my first exams of medical school right around the time I delivered our baby.
I wrote a letter to basically beg for a deferral. Fortunately, the dean of my new school is as reasonable as I'd hoped, and granted me permission to begin in August of 2016. This year, I'll have the baby, take a long maternity leave, and work with Matt to prepare our little family to begin a new adventure.
Life, it turns out, happens whether you think you're ready for it or not.
I laugh at having worried. I am not leading the dance. The best I can do is try to make it look graceful, and sometimes I do better than others. As it rolls ever on, sometimes the hardest thing is just getting your balance long enough to catch your breath and give thanks: this journey is good.
Happy Birthday to me, and thank you friends, family, and yes, even foes. Thank you universe.
Much of what I thought about that birthday was the ever increasing imminence of this one. Numbers are just numbers, etc., etc., but still. 30 seems kind of monumental. I've been mentally preparing myself for a few years now.
Last year I felt far from 30. I have to laugh, because I remember that for years and years, I felt older than the calendar said I was. At some point, I realized that the reverse was true, but I really have no idea when some point was. This confuses me, and I find myself wondering if identifying 'some point' would be somehow informative to me. Alas. For now some point rests somewhere in between my 25th and 30th birthdays.
Today, however, I feel like I'm catching up with myself.
Shortly after I moved back from France in the summer of 2013, I crossed paths with a guy I went to grade school with. We sat outside talking all night, had coffee when the sun came up, and didn't spend more than 48 hours apart for the next ten months. I had the strange feeling that I had always known him, and I started feeling older. Not in a bad way. But decidedly older. Or maybe I just confuse contentedness with oldness.
We rented a little house out in the country, and I felt pretty happy there. My desire to do things like run ultra-marathons and travel the world waned. I was, and am, glad to have had these experiences. But they're not always tugging at me the way they used to. Last summer, I went to a meditation retreat, and left early. I sat silently for about two days, and know I could have stayed for the eight more that were planned. Instead I had this kind of sublime realization. What was I looking for? Metta, compassion, joy, equanimity? I had everything I needed: the only thing missing was me, and for some reason, I was in the woods in the middle of Wisconsin. I laughed and cried, thanked everyone, packed my things and got back in my car. It took all night to drive home, and as I pulled onto our gravel road just as the sun came up, I took a moment to give thanks before going inside.
Later that summer, I applied to medical school. Meanwhile, I got a great new job, and gave thanks for health insurance. Matt and I started talking more about future plans and trying to buy a place of our own. In January, my beloved grandfather began hospice care. In February, I bought the first car I've ever had that wasn't a family hand-me-down. I told the salesman, who kept trying to talk to me about cuteness, that I really wanted a dependable car that got great gas mileage. Driving away from the dealership in my Honda hybrid, I felt older. A week later, we got a call from my grandfather's caregivers. We gathered to hold his hands while his priest came and delivered last rites, and that afternoon, he took his final breaths. I spoke at his memorial service about the one time I ever remember him losing his temper with me, when I'd asked him if he thought it was really important to have children. The day we buried him, I found out I was pregnant. I waited to tell Matt until the next week, after the opening of his first solo art show. The same week, I was invited to interview at the medical school I'd told Matt a year ago I most readily saw myself at. At the time, I was so overwhelmed I considered not going.
In the end, I decided I had nothing to lose. Two weeks later, I drove to Des Moines, and fell in love with DMU. I asked my student tour guide if any of his classmates had families, and he smiled and told me about his wife and 6-month old daughter. Everything about it felt good. On the way home, I threw up in a cup in the car while driving down the interstate- morning sickness, which is not remotely relegated to the morning. I was thankful I hadn't thrown up during the interview. A week later, I was accepted. Of course, that meant I was right on track to take my first exams of medical school right around the time I delivered our baby.
I wrote a letter to basically beg for a deferral. Fortunately, the dean of my new school is as reasonable as I'd hoped, and granted me permission to begin in August of 2016. This year, I'll have the baby, take a long maternity leave, and work with Matt to prepare our little family to begin a new adventure.
Life, it turns out, happens whether you think you're ready for it or not.
I laugh at having worried. I am not leading the dance. The best I can do is try to make it look graceful, and sometimes I do better than others. As it rolls ever on, sometimes the hardest thing is just getting your balance long enough to catch your breath and give thanks: this journey is good.
Happy Birthday to me, and thank you friends, family, and yes, even foes. Thank you universe.
posted by bella.calamitas at 8:24 AM
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